


This is Me

by DarkDayDream



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Crossdressing, F/F, Hospitalization, Not Beta Read, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDayDream/pseuds/DarkDayDream
Summary: It was no surprise that Anne would end up falling for the Handsome, scandalous daughter of Henry Carlyle. A woman who looked better in suits and ties, than in skirts and dresses. A woman who drank far too much...Or: The hospital scene from the movie, but with Handsome LadyKiller Philippa Carlyle.





	This is Me

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Greatest Showman or any characters from it.  
> As well, I make no money from this fanfic.

Philippa smelt of smoke and flames, even days after the last lingering ember of the fire had choked itself out. The smoldering rubble of the circus; their fought-after home, left to sit quietly. Empty of the excitement and awe their performances had brought to it, the crowds of circus goers no longer filling the stands and pointing with amazement.

It was simply gone, stealing away the first place Anne had ever truly considered a ‘home’.

Leaving her with the clothes upon her back, and little more. Back to square one, with the taste of smoke on her tongue and her brothers worried gaze upon her back. Holding her back as she screamed into the fire, watching as P.T. vanished into the roaring flames.

Chasing after the woman Anne had come to love, and hate at the same time. A sobbed praise upon her lips, when P.T. appeared from the collapsed building with the unconscious socialite in his arms.

Her pale skin darkened with soot, and reddened from the lick of the flames.

But she was alive, and that fact alone was good enough for Anne. Her fingers smudging the ash that coated Philippas throat, palming her face and running her thumb across the brunettes parted lips. Savoring the strained, dry rattle of her breathing.

She was alive...alive, but burned and bruised.

Her face darkened with shades of purple and blue that would fade with time, temporary marks that could not compete with the burns that fanned across the entirety of her back and wrapped around her ribs.

Dark licks of flame that would heal, but never truly vanish. Marring Philippas pale flesh, and earning the exhausted woman looks of pity from the doctors and nurses who fawned over her. Wrapping her burns and smoothing salve over her bruises, content to ignore the petite circus performer that had stubbornly lingered at the socialites side since her admittance to the hospital.

Anne’s presence earning more than one upturned nose. Some of the nurses going as far as scowling at her, when they came to check on Philippa. Barking orders at her, like they had some say over her actions.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Philippa would grunt out, grasping tightly at Anne’s hand and glowering at the nurses who dared to suggest otherwise. Her eyes narrowed and her expression hardened, looking as threatening as a hospitalized burn patient could.

Which was not a lot.

But still enough to bring a twinge to Anne’s chest and a sliver of a smile to her lips. Quietly humming to Philippa as she slept off her exhaustion, admiring the softness of her face in sleep. The same face that had haunted her thoughts for months, since the first time she had made eye contact with Barnum’s young protege.

A woman that at one time, might have been considered beautiful.

But with her hair cut boyishly short, and her breasts binded beneath a stark white dress shirt, the first thing that had come to Anne’s mind had been a loud ‘ _What a Handsome Woman’._

The kind of woman who looked better in suits and ties, than in skirts and dresses. Feminine, but with a heavy masculine overlay that was hard to ignore. A woman Anne came to know as the scandalous daughter of Henry Carlyle.

A woman who drank too much and wrote highly praised plays that she felt little for.

A rich socialite that came from a world Anne would never be welcomed in, a truth Henry and Patricia Carlyle made crystal clear upon finding Anne at Philippa's bedside. Henry screaming at her until he was practically blue in the face, rousing Philippa from a dead sleep. Her eyes staring blurrily up at the worried faces of her parents.

Her father barking orders at the nurses who wisely tried to stay out of his away, while her mother settled herself down upon the edge of Philippa's hospital bed, taking up the spot Anne had resided in for the last three days. Physically pushing the young performer from Philippa's bedside.

“Philippa! Sweetie, the circus is gone now. It's time to come Home.” Patricia had wailed out, fussing over her wounded daughter in a way only she could. Loudly and openly, playing the part of the worried mother perfectly for the eyes that watched them.

“Enough of this foolery, Philippa. It's time to come home, and forget these..” Henry eyed Anne with muted interest, a sneer upon his lips. “Circus freaks.”

Anne had wanted nothing more than to run and hide from those glares, to escape the hatred she saw in Henry's eyes. A hated based on her occupation and skin color alone.

“You disowned me, Father. These freaks are my family now, and a little arson isn't going to hold us back. You… you shouldn't have come to see me.” With her voice still rough from the smoke that had drowned her lungs, Philippa quietly bid her parents retreating forms goodbye.

Watching with pinched brows as her father marched angrily out of the hospital wing, cursing his oldest child and not once glancing back. Her mother close upon his heels, ever the quiet and obedient wife.

Walking out of Philippa's life, perhaps for the last time.

“I’m sorry about them, Anne.” Philippa turned glassy eyes towards the performer, her lips set into a pained grimace. Limbs of lead as she sunk into the lumpy hospital mattress, practically aging right before Anne’s eyes.

Tired, sore, and once again reliving the loss of her family.

“You can’t choose your parents.” Anne whispered, settling herself back onto the edge of the bed. Brushing Philippa's stringy bangs from her eyes and pressing her lips to her forehead, the brunette in desperate need of a long, hot shower.

“But this.. This is real, this is me,” Philippa unsurely whispered, her hands shakily raising to grasp at Anne’s cheeks. Pulling her down and pressing their lips together in a slow, teeth clicking kiss.

The taste of soot upon Anne's tongue when the socialite pulled away, quietly singing to Anne in her scratchy, smoky voice, “I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be now.. gonna let the light, shine on me. Now I found, who I am, there's no way to hold it in. No more hiding who I want to be.. this is me.”

Anne wished she could say that she didn't cry, but who was she kidding.

Of course she cried, her forehead leaned against Philippa’s as she answered back the wounded womans singing. Her own voice stuttering with tears as she quietly sang, “Do you know what it's like to feel so in the dark? To dream about a life where you're the shining star. Even though it seems like it's too far away, I have to believe in myself… it's the only way-”

“You're the voice I hear inside my head, the reason that I'm singing. I need to find you, I gotta find you. You're the missing piece I need, the song inside of me. I need to find you… I gotta-” Philippas sweet croonings were cut short as she began to cough, loud and deeply. Her eyes clenched shut and her lungs aflame, a glass of water pressed to her lips and a hand rubbing at the back of her neck. Coaxing her to sip at the lukewarm water, a godsend upon her aching throat.

“Breath, Phil. It’s going to be okay…. You’ve already found me. Just try and breath.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song: This is me (Camp Rock)


End file.
